“Behave.”
“I am behaving! I’m just trying to streamline the mourning process.”
Mum ignores me in favor of attacking my blouse. “Button up that top button. You’re looking a bit tarty. Far too much cleavage.”
“The old pervert would’ve loved that.”
Mum shoots me the kind of look that could turn wine back into water.
“Ohgod,” I whisper, eyes widening. “Edward’s first in line. And he looksproper murderous.”
“Stop being silly! Edward’s a lovely man.”
“Yeah, a lovely man who’s currently looking like he’s about to sentence someone to death. Look at that scowl.”
“If you had any sense,” Mum hisses, “you’d see that man’s got more integrity in his little finger than most people here have in their whole bodies. He’s done loads for all of us.”
“Like what?”
She flounders, mouth opening and closing. “Well . . . he’s generous with the staff. Goes above and beyond.”
“Easy to be generous when you’re loaded.”
“Daisy.” Her nails dig into my arm as she frogmarches me toward the church, muttering through a plastered-on smile. “Into the queue, now.”
Oh, here we fucking go.
This is worse than picking a serial killer out of a lineup. One brother, I saw jerking off in a tent. The other humiliated me in front of his whole family.
Edward’s first. My heart’s pounding so hard it’s probably a medical emergency.
He looms over me. “Daisy. Thank you for coming.”
I nod, too stiffly, and reach for his hand.
His handshake is firm and warm and—oh god—that’s the same hand I saw doing . . . things. Hot things.
I stare at him. The only thought ping-ponging around my empty skull is:I’ve seen your penis. It’s enormous. Magnificent. I’d very much like to see if I can fit it in my mouth.
Say words, Daisy. WORDS.
But the words aren’t coming, and the handshake is drifting dangerous intotoo-longterritory.
His hand hasn’t let go.
Neither has mine.
His eyebrow twitches.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I blurt finally. Okay, something nice. “Such a . . . terrible loss. He was . . . a great man. Left his mark on everyone he met.”
I stop breathing. “Not physically!” I squeak, panicking. “I mean professionally. With his . . . medical . . . stuff.”
Someone please push me into an open grave.
Edward’s mother—who I’d forgotten was standingright therebecause her eldest son is basically a black hole of intimidating energy—is staring at me like I’ve just suggested we taxidermy Bernard and mount him above the fireplace in a provocative pose.
Edward’s jaw tightens. “Thank you,” he says smoothly, “Yes, his . . . medical legacy will certainly be remembered.”
